It is the time of year when the days grow cold and the nights even colder. The sun shines less and the dark of night stays longer. Each night it seems there are not enough covers or blankets on the bed. And in the morning, a walk outside startles you awake all the more. The air is crisp and dry. And everywhere you look, you see the trees, naked against the cold, with a carpet of fallen leaves all around. You see squirrels and birds picking through the remnants of summer's feast on the ground.
The air is crisp and dry. And as you breathe in the cold air, you smell that familiar smell of wood smoke. It is the time of year when the smell of wood smoke does not bring alarm, but evokes thoughts of warmth, of security, and of home. It is a smell that during the height of summer could generate fear and concern. But now, it is calm assurance that somewhere, someone is being warmed by burning wood.
All of our neighbors have a fire of some kind going. Some in fireplaces and some in wood stoves. We have a wood stove in a basement den and started using it about a week ago. The warmth of a fire in a cold house is something that just makes you feel good, all the way down to the bone.
I like starting the fire. Splitting some kindling, getting a small fire going at first, and then watching it until it is ready for bigger pieces of wood. And then as you build it up, you decide how much of a fire you want. So you add the wood in the right ways to get just enough warmth, a little warmer, hot, roaring, or "seventh level" as my son puts it, which is nearly painfully hot.
Our wood burning stove has solid doors that close. I wish it had a fire screen and we could leave the doors open while we sit in front of it. There is something peaceful and relaxing about watching the fire. I am not sure what it is, but we sat in front of the open doors last night and watched it for a while. I built it to be just enough warmth at the time. That way I felt comfortable with the doors open. A couple sparks dropped harmlessly onto the brick hearth, but in all, it was tame.
Usually, however, the doors remain closed during use. Each time we open the doors of the stove to check the fire or add wood, a plume of wood smoke comes out into the room. It then gets caught by the fan and drawn into the air conditioning system where we can smell it throughout the house. I like that. A little whiff of wood smoke is simply nice to have. Too much and we are probably in trouble.
So in this season of cold, if you are blessed with a fireplace or wood burning stove, you ought to get a fire going, watch the burning wood with someone you love, and smell the aroma of wood smoke.
Come to think of it, I have to go check the fire right now. It probably needs built up again. Of course, since I like doing that, its not really work. And I will get to smell the wood smoke.
Copyright 2006, Kevin Farley (a.k.a. sixdrift, a.k.a. neuronstatic)
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
Monday, December 11, 2006
Grass in the Alley
A few weeks ago I traveled "home" to have Thanksgiving with my parents. This was the first time my two teenage children have ever been to see my parents for Thanksgiving. This year is the first Thanksgiving in our new family, a blended family, one created from the remains of two families.
It was about two years ago that my ex-wife told me she was leaving. At that time she told me that she was taking both children with her. Things however turned out differently than she had planned. Her actions and inactions caught up with her and both kids made it clear they were staying with me.
It was also over two years ago that in another family over 1000 miles away told his wife and his daughters that he was leaving. This left a mother and three little girls alone while he went on to move in with another woman.
So there we were, two broken families, two lonely hurting people, and a total of five hurting children, fearful of the future and angry at the past and present. But we were over 1000 miles apart and we did not even know of the existence, or plight, of each other.
But God, in His mercy, brought these two lonely hurting people together, using technology to span the gap of distance and cross the bounds of our local areas. And in a quickness of time and events that defy natural explanation, we married after only a few months since first meeting in that first email exchange.
So here we are, over a year later, a blended family of seven total. Amy loving wife gladly agreed that we could have Thanksgiving with my parents. And instead of spending my time thinking of past Thanksgivings and my years growing up in that house, I couldn't help but think of the Thanksgivings to come. I look forward to those years to come with my dear wife and this zany blended family.
I took a walk outside with my son and as I walked around the house one morning, he went back inside to see his grandmother and I walked out to the back alley that comes down behind the one row of houses there. I walked up the alley studying how time has changed it. Once it was well graveled and well traveled. Now it was showing the obvious signs of a lack of traffic. This back alley once had many cars, pickups, and bicycles moving on it each day. But time has changed this alley and this whole community.
What I most noticed about the alley was the grass growing on it. As I thought on this, I remembered many of the times as a kid I repaired that alley and kept the grass at bay. I used to be seen often with a wheelbarrow and shovel going up and down the alley, fixing holes and fighting problems. Often I would even correct situations before they became a problem, like keeping the stream cleared out that flowed behind the alley.
As I thought about this a while, I decided that I don't really mind the grass growing on that back alley. While I know that if nothing is done, the grass could eventually overtake the gravel and the alley would fall into disrepair. But that grass covers the past and creates opportunities for others to make new repairs of their own. And these repairs were indeed being done. The upper end of the alley had a good load of new gravel on it. The stream behind the alley had been cleared to prevent it from overflowing into the alley, a frequent problem I fought for years. And many mistakes of the past had been covered, repaired, or simply replaced.
The slow march of time continues on, unstoppable and unabated by any of our efforts. But over time, we are constantly building the road of life ahead of us. And when the grass appears behind us, it is merely covering the road we have come so that we don't try to go back. That grass covers the old road of our past.
In my own life, my road had fallen into disrepair and the grass was catching up to me. I did not have much good road ahead of me. That was when I started to work on my road again in earnest. That was when my grass covered road came to an intersection with another grass covered road, the one my dear wife was on. And together we are building a new road and work diligently to ensure the grass does not grow up around our feet, but stays firmly behind us, where it belongs.
So as the grass grows on all these old roads, it covers the old life each of us walked in a blanket of green. It covers the mistakes, the holes, the rough spots, and even the smooth parts. I really don't mind the grass growing on our old roads. That grass holds the past in place behind us and make the road backwards impassable.
Our job each day is to keep our road ahead maintained. We are to patch the holes, smooth over the rough spots, and sometimes just enjoy the ride, whether bumpy or smooth. So we let the grass grow in the past, but we keep the road of today and tomorrow clear.
I am blessed because I don't have to work on my road alone. I have my wife and this wonderful, chaotic, and loving family all working together. I know that one by one, they will each set off to build roads of their own. I pray that I have shown them enough so they know how to build and maintain their road. And eventually, like my parents, it will be just the two of us, my wife and I, with wheelbarrows and shovels, together, still building and maintaining our shared road.
Copyright 2006, Kevin Farley (a.k.a. sixdrift, a.k.a. neuronstatic)
It was about two years ago that my ex-wife told me she was leaving. At that time she told me that she was taking both children with her. Things however turned out differently than she had planned. Her actions and inactions caught up with her and both kids made it clear they were staying with me.
It was also over two years ago that in another family over 1000 miles away told his wife and his daughters that he was leaving. This left a mother and three little girls alone while he went on to move in with another woman.
So there we were, two broken families, two lonely hurting people, and a total of five hurting children, fearful of the future and angry at the past and present. But we were over 1000 miles apart and we did not even know of the existence, or plight, of each other.
But God, in His mercy, brought these two lonely hurting people together, using technology to span the gap of distance and cross the bounds of our local areas. And in a quickness of time and events that defy natural explanation, we married after only a few months since first meeting in that first email exchange.
So here we are, over a year later, a blended family of seven total. Amy loving wife gladly agreed that we could have Thanksgiving with my parents. And instead of spending my time thinking of past Thanksgivings and my years growing up in that house, I couldn't help but think of the Thanksgivings to come. I look forward to those years to come with my dear wife and this zany blended family.
I took a walk outside with my son and as I walked around the house one morning, he went back inside to see his grandmother and I walked out to the back alley that comes down behind the one row of houses there. I walked up the alley studying how time has changed it. Once it was well graveled and well traveled. Now it was showing the obvious signs of a lack of traffic. This back alley once had many cars, pickups, and bicycles moving on it each day. But time has changed this alley and this whole community.
What I most noticed about the alley was the grass growing on it. As I thought on this, I remembered many of the times as a kid I repaired that alley and kept the grass at bay. I used to be seen often with a wheelbarrow and shovel going up and down the alley, fixing holes and fighting problems. Often I would even correct situations before they became a problem, like keeping the stream cleared out that flowed behind the alley.
As I thought about this a while, I decided that I don't really mind the grass growing on that back alley. While I know that if nothing is done, the grass could eventually overtake the gravel and the alley would fall into disrepair. But that grass covers the past and creates opportunities for others to make new repairs of their own. And these repairs were indeed being done. The upper end of the alley had a good load of new gravel on it. The stream behind the alley had been cleared to prevent it from overflowing into the alley, a frequent problem I fought for years. And many mistakes of the past had been covered, repaired, or simply replaced.
The slow march of time continues on, unstoppable and unabated by any of our efforts. But over time, we are constantly building the road of life ahead of us. And when the grass appears behind us, it is merely covering the road we have come so that we don't try to go back. That grass covers the old road of our past.
In my own life, my road had fallen into disrepair and the grass was catching up to me. I did not have much good road ahead of me. That was when I started to work on my road again in earnest. That was when my grass covered road came to an intersection with another grass covered road, the one my dear wife was on. And together we are building a new road and work diligently to ensure the grass does not grow up around our feet, but stays firmly behind us, where it belongs.
So as the grass grows on all these old roads, it covers the old life each of us walked in a blanket of green. It covers the mistakes, the holes, the rough spots, and even the smooth parts. I really don't mind the grass growing on our old roads. That grass holds the past in place behind us and make the road backwards impassable.
Our job each day is to keep our road ahead maintained. We are to patch the holes, smooth over the rough spots, and sometimes just enjoy the ride, whether bumpy or smooth. So we let the grass grow in the past, but we keep the road of today and tomorrow clear.
I am blessed because I don't have to work on my road alone. I have my wife and this wonderful, chaotic, and loving family all working together. I know that one by one, they will each set off to build roads of their own. I pray that I have shown them enough so they know how to build and maintain their road. And eventually, like my parents, it will be just the two of us, my wife and I, with wheelbarrows and shovels, together, still building and maintaining our shared road.
Copyright 2006, Kevin Farley (a.k.a. sixdrift, a.k.a. neuronstatic)
Friday, December 01, 2006
Is Boba Fett Scottish?
It has been quite a while since I last wrote an update to this blog. Probably because this has been a very unusual summer and every time I thought of something to write, I had about 30 things come to mind all at once. So I kept putting it off. But finally, I need to write something. This one is from an event a few weeks ago, but still very much in my mind.
Some time ago I wrote of my first time going to a Renaissance Faire. It was strange, wonderful, and in general entertaining. Well, it had been over a year since I had been to one and my wife and I took the whole family over to Charlotte to the Carolina Renaissance Festival. This was the first time for my three step-daughters, but my own son and daughter were becoming old hands at it now.
Everyone decided to dress up a bit to get into the spirit of things. Well, everyone except me. My son wore the full length hooded cloak my wife made for him, my daughters all wore some kind of attire that reeked of antiquity, and even my wife wore a strange skirt and the blouse that she wouldn't typically wear (hey, its the Renaissance Festival, use your imagination). I wore blue jeans, tennis shoes, a tee shirt, and my "mosquito" shirt over that. I would try to describe the mosquito shirt, but you should really be drinking first to appreciate the description.
We all had a good time. We let the three older kids wander around a bit on their own while my wife and I kept the two younger ones busy. We saw some old favorites, the amazing candle carving guy, London Broil, and a few others. We also saw an act I had not seen before that was hilarious, the Tortuga Twins. We laughed at those three guys (yes 3, yes they call themselves the Tortuga Twins, no I do not know why) almost non-stop. They had to warn parents that as the day progressed, they got drunker and naughtier. We saw the first show of the day. The last must have been a trip.
Throughout the day we saw fools, knights, elves, sprites, pixies, knaves, and probably even a few highwaymen. We saw the regular assortment of corseted maids jiggling their bosoms as renaissance maids are known to do. We saw belly dancers (Jewels of the Caravan) and musicians. We saw gawkers and hawkers, lookers and hookers. We saw everything you can imagine seeing at a Renaissance Festival. And then we saw something I never expected to see at a Renaissance Festival.
I saw a storm trooper wearing a kilt.
Yes. A storm trooper wearing a kilt. I know its sounds like it, but I never touched the king's ale, I swear. It was a guy wearing a storm trooper helmet and upper armor, and a plaid kilt. For those of you with nothing better to do and are seriously AR, it was a green plaid with dark blue.
So I felt my day at the Renaissance Festival was complete. I saw the glimpses of the Renaissance and I saw glimpses of the Empire, all in the same day, all at the same place.
Geek heaven don't ya think?
Well, a couple of weeks later I chaperoned one of my daughter's class trips to the very same Renaissance Festival. I knew that nothing could outdo seeing Boba McFett, but I did see something different.
There it was. About 10 feet tall. An Ent.
Yes ladies and gentlemen, the Ents came marching one by one. Now if any of you do not know what an Ent is, well, its a walking tree and I don't know why you continued to read this far if you did not know as this entire thing is... well... geeky... in all aspects. And geeks know what Ents are.
Ah, Renaissance Festivals and Faires. Never is man privileged to see more jiggling cleavage and not have his wife drag him out of the place than at the Faire. Not that I was looking though. I just bring it up to make a point. Really.
Eating cooked meat off a stick or right off the bone. Speaking in pseudo-Old English with really bad accents. Spending too much money. And walking through mud.
Yeah. Simply awesome.
Copyright 2006, Kevin Farley (a.k.a. sixdrift, a.k.a. neuronstatic)
Some time ago I wrote of my first time going to a Renaissance Faire. It was strange, wonderful, and in general entertaining. Well, it had been over a year since I had been to one and my wife and I took the whole family over to Charlotte to the Carolina Renaissance Festival. This was the first time for my three step-daughters, but my own son and daughter were becoming old hands at it now.
Everyone decided to dress up a bit to get into the spirit of things. Well, everyone except me. My son wore the full length hooded cloak my wife made for him, my daughters all wore some kind of attire that reeked of antiquity, and even my wife wore a strange skirt and the blouse that she wouldn't typically wear (hey, its the Renaissance Festival, use your imagination). I wore blue jeans, tennis shoes, a tee shirt, and my "mosquito" shirt over that. I would try to describe the mosquito shirt, but you should really be drinking first to appreciate the description.
We all had a good time. We let the three older kids wander around a bit on their own while my wife and I kept the two younger ones busy. We saw some old favorites, the amazing candle carving guy, London Broil, and a few others. We also saw an act I had not seen before that was hilarious, the Tortuga Twins. We laughed at those three guys (yes 3, yes they call themselves the Tortuga Twins, no I do not know why) almost non-stop. They had to warn parents that as the day progressed, they got drunker and naughtier. We saw the first show of the day. The last must have been a trip.
Throughout the day we saw fools, knights, elves, sprites, pixies, knaves, and probably even a few highwaymen. We saw the regular assortment of corseted maids jiggling their bosoms as renaissance maids are known to do. We saw belly dancers (Jewels of the Caravan) and musicians. We saw gawkers and hawkers, lookers and hookers. We saw everything you can imagine seeing at a Renaissance Festival. And then we saw something I never expected to see at a Renaissance Festival.
I saw a storm trooper wearing a kilt.
Yes. A storm trooper wearing a kilt. I know its sounds like it, but I never touched the king's ale, I swear. It was a guy wearing a storm trooper helmet and upper armor, and a plaid kilt. For those of you with nothing better to do and are seriously AR, it was a green plaid with dark blue.
So I felt my day at the Renaissance Festival was complete. I saw the glimpses of the Renaissance and I saw glimpses of the Empire, all in the same day, all at the same place.
Geek heaven don't ya think?
Well, a couple of weeks later I chaperoned one of my daughter's class trips to the very same Renaissance Festival. I knew that nothing could outdo seeing Boba McFett, but I did see something different.
There it was. About 10 feet tall. An Ent.
Yes ladies and gentlemen, the Ents came marching one by one. Now if any of you do not know what an Ent is, well, its a walking tree and I don't know why you continued to read this far if you did not know as this entire thing is... well... geeky... in all aspects. And geeks know what Ents are.
Ah, Renaissance Festivals and Faires. Never is man privileged to see more jiggling cleavage and not have his wife drag him out of the place than at the Faire. Not that I was looking though. I just bring it up to make a point. Really.
Eating cooked meat off a stick or right off the bone. Speaking in pseudo-Old English with really bad accents. Spending too much money. And walking through mud.
Yeah. Simply awesome.
Copyright 2006, Kevin Farley (a.k.a. sixdrift, a.k.a. neuronstatic)
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